Gargoyle on a Tower
by Plastic Emotion
Summary: He thought being barricaded within the eternal loneliness of an underwater prison was enough to damage his mentality into complete ruin…until a near escape lands him a discovery far more terrifying than anything he had ever encountered before…


Gargoyle on a Tower

**Summary**: He thought being barricaded within the eternal loneliness of an underwater prison was enough to damage his mentality into complete ruin…until a near escape lands him a discovery far more terrifying than anything he had ever encountered before…the gargoyle of the hellish island.

* * *

_Tick-tick…tock…toop…tock…toop…tick-tick…__**chink**__!_

A staggered breath.

The doorknob jostled just a bit and with a muted click, it turned in a complete rotation. His fear doused, insomnia raped eyes slowly blinked with realization that the door he had been one handedly picking at (for who knows how long) was finally unlocked. The tiny bobby pin he had found when turning the façade of a room inside out had proved its worth in far more value than gold ever could. Gently was the pin was retrieved from the jagged keyhole, a sick and twisted way to play with the poor soul's mind. The door had been intentionally installed backwards, or the knob itself, he couldn't be sure, but what he had discovered more than a few weeks ago was enough to shatter his esteem quite a bit. The keyhole was on the inside of his room, while the switch for locking was on the outside, only accessible to the warden of his cell. And time and time again had he spent, kicking, punching, attacking with any blunt object he could grasp his fingers on to simply get that door to jar for even an inch. But until now, to no avail.

Loneliness had far exceeded the young man's capabilities, just about ready to claw a hole through the walls of metal, even if it grinded down to the bone of his fingertips. He had stopped talking to himself nearly a month ago, only whispering if ever need be. No one listened…no one _to_ listen…and his mind had no interest in anything he already knew of. The muscles in his body throbbed with pain from lying in similar positions for hours at a time, mostly awake, eyes focused to one spot on a pipe above his bed. Sometimes it would clank and hiss, other times it would leak or spit steam, make things uncomfortable. He wasn't sure the date of the month…day of the week…time…

He had a fancy watch, mostly wore it during well to do occasions…used to, anyway. It merely sat on the edge of his radiator alongside his bed, shimmering a reflective blip from the surface world through his drapes. Drapes he wouldn't dare tamper with no matter how dark the rust colored room threatened to be. Nothing on earth could compare to the horror just outside his pressure pounded peek hole, even if it was submerged a few hundred feet below sea level. His only taste of the real world, completely out of the question. Oh, how he missed the haunted lands of voodoo and sin…the cloudy and cold…the empty and deadly. A place where he could open the windows and feel an ominous breeze, climb to the roof and gaze at the unexplained, nestle into a room he voluntarily dwelled in and felt…at peace.

His chin lifted, cheek peeling off the side of the metal door, leaving a rosy blotch where skin had kissed metal. This place…so cheaply thrown together to imitate a feeling of nostalgia. A mask or two…a hung flag…a few knick knacks here and there of no true meaning…life-sized Spiderman? An organized mess. How like him…or so his warden thought. The poor prisoner had been led to believe in friendship…if such a thing even existed anymore…or ever did.

His jaw clenched as his vision narrowed, carefully pressing the door out so hinges wouldn't squeak or crack, as he assumed they would in a corrosion covered haven such as his penitentiary. The action of swallowing only irritated the dry scratchiness in his throat, chest tight while he shakily shoved the pin into his pocket, unsure of where to go from here. The cranial dents blinked over and over, doing their best to adjust to the tapering light shadows craning off from the long hallway he appeared to be standing in. Never before had he been allowed to walk outside of his room conscious or visually privileged. His hands crept up to embrace his chest, neck cracking as he tilted his view right. There seemed to be another hall leaning elsewhere in that direction with a faded orange light dimly casting out up the wall and into his hallway. A crack to the left provided him with a replica of his previous view. And right in front of him? A giant metal container with split doors at hand, panels corroded and water stained, a few urchins sucked on towards the bottom half of the leaking cylinder.

His gaze lingered on the lift for quite some time, debating if it would be wise to enter such a dangerous looking contraption. For all he knew, the wires could be short circuiting and he would be electrocuted into a nice tropical flesh soup with a tiny hint of coconut. Rubbing his nose with a sniff, he felt an awkward tweak in his belly from the sheer thought. No thank you, sir. Stairs seemed to be a much more reasonable answer, and come to think of it, all times he had been blindfolded or drugged, never once had he been led into a cramped lift with the shadow man. There _were_ stairs around here…he just had to find them himself…and hopefully they would lead him to freedom. He had to get out of this horrible place.

Left or right…left or right…

Pressing his back against the door he had lock picked, the thin young man took a left, dusting himself off. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten or dressed himself…looked in a mirror or combed his hair. Apparently he had forgotten shoes today, cleanly barefoot against the bitter cement floor, but he wasn't going back to retrieve anything that wasn't necessary. His numbing fingers rubbed along his bare arms, cradled against his red tee clad chest, cut off shorts pressed against him (and with a belt looped in interestingly enough). It wasn't enough to keep him warm as the cold spiked up his spine and into his white sailor's cap, but with a shake of his head, he pressed on forward. Going back wasn't an option, not for more clothing or anything else that could slow him down during a narrow escape. There was no plan…no inkling of an idea…and he knew he wasn't the keenest of thinkers when it came to improvisation, but he would figure something out, eventually. Right now simply required forward movement, and careful breathing.

The young man's stomach twisted in a rare urge of hunger, a feeling he hadn't fathomed in years, but the warden of Plastic Beach had made it clear and simple that a little cooperation was required in order to obtain a decent serving size…and bare essentials would be rewarded for fussing…every few days. The man had lost his mind, there was no doubt about that, but in no way, shape, or form had he gone so mental that it spiraled into stupidity. No, far from it. The man was a genius through and through, slick enough to know his singer was human and his body required certain sustenance to keep up and about…something he needed if he wanted a pure voice on that forthcoming CD he dared label under Gorillaz.

The captive ground his molars down tight, pressure pounding into his brain. Gorillaz was gone…done with…over. Why couldn't Murdoc see that? They hadn't seen each other in four years…hadn't talked…hadn't heard…

Furrowing his brows, the singer paused his stride for a moment. Were the others being held captive as well? Was only he a slave to their leader's music, or were the others being tortured as well by their _so_ _called_ friend? His pulse began to race with a vulgar relapse. What if somehow he was able to get off the island…and they were still trapped? No…He couldn't have gotten Russel…the New Yorker would never allow the bony Brit to lay a hand on him…but then again, he could've been gassed…just like him. And…and Noodle…

Swallowing roughly, the lad's fingers rubbed along his throat, helping himself choke down that lump. There was no need to think of her now. She was a fit young thing…and even if she was…well…she would've kicked the bassist's head clean off…if she was…well…anyway…

Shaking his head, the young man ran his hand to the back of his neck, taking a minute to gather his surroundings. He had reached the end of his corridor, and to his left was a door that lacked a keyhole or lock. Glancing over his shoulder, he pressed it against the cool panel, ignoring the chilling sensation it spread across his back and took a deep breath. His eyes closed for a second, resting his head back while he tenderly crunched his body in, carefully caressing the knob before gently giving it a twist. "_Please, please, please._" The door cracked under the weight of his body, but only a bit, for his fingers gripped it close with the natural hinge of his arm. He peeked in, quietly sighing when realizing it was nothing more than a storage room for broken fishing rods, garbage bags, and a pool table with a sword stabbed into it. His eyes lingered on the rusty old sword with its seemingly golden handle and bejeweled rim, thinking of ten thousand better uses than its current one, and oddly enough, they all involved Murdoc in the table's position. The door closed with a click, his eyes grim and weary. Too long had he been kept here, forced to do his master's bidding. Too long had he been alone before his capture, simply pondering the past and every little thing that hadn't been done in order to change his future. He had been staring out his window when he lost consciousness…mind running through memories that should have been long forgotten, stored away for safe keeping, and buried for safer measures.

Everything brought him pain: every sound, every smell, every vision stored within the depths of his brain. Death seemed too easy of an answer; he was quite positive even _that_ would bring him a grander disappointment. There was nothing left in this world that held any value to him…not even his voice was worth the effort. However, the dark one adored this new desperation in the singer (probably the only thing he ever truly approved in him) and, by God, he would own it if it killed him. He was going to dissect that voice bit by bit, sew it in with the rest of the poor souls he managed to drag onto the island and then lock the prisoner back in his cell only to do it again at his heart's whim. He was going to tear 2D down until there was nothing left but a shell…and even that would be drained of its entity until there was nothing more.

The skeletal man's chest swelled with rage as his eyes grew dark and dangerous. How _dare_ that creature treat him as such. That monster required _his_ voice for his twisted work, and to extract it from him through psychological molestation…physical starvation…and solitary confinement…He truly was a demon from hell. The young man's hand gripped on the next metal knob jetting out from the wall, turning and shoving before he could stop himself. He froze at his rough demeanor and possible give away, filling with a quiet emptiness as his shoulders sagged. His gaze lifted gradually, taking only two steps before closing the door behind him as gently as possible. It appeared as if he were swimming through a dream, a room nonexistent in his real world of affliction and unjust punishment, far too easy and good to simply land into his lap, but the raw emotion that had been brewing up within his chest cavity for over six months nearly broke him down then and there at the base of the holy stairway to heaven.

His balance was thrown off by his tiny steps, skin under his feet scraping the moist cement as he inched along, arm shakily lifting to grip the wooden rail between his fingers. His feet were compatible to buckets of damp sand when he tried lifting them, knobby knees buckling until the pad of his heel hit the concrete step, heart pacing in an instant jump. This was real. It was all real. He had escaped his room and there was chance now. Chance to escape from this horrible stinking plastic beach. With each gradual step came strength to the singer like sunbeams to the illustrious Kryptonian, climbing quicker and quicker as he proceeded. He ducked at the platform of the base before the turn, pausing while he listened for anything unexpected, one ear specifically out for the warden himself. If there was anything he needed to avoid at this moment, it was Murdoc.

Trudging up this set didn't seem so bad, and he could've sworn he nearly smiled when his toes grazed the very top, a giant metal door before him. He took a small breath, tightening his fingers into fists at his side before nodding to no one in particular. Baby steps. That's all it was. If only these doors had single panes…it would be most helpful in his position. But perhaps Murdoc knew that. Plastic Beach was all about inconvenience. The garbage of the world, all at the base of his fingertips. Only that man would bring him…trap him…imprison him in a place such as this. It made Kong look like paradise. The thin lad took hold of the knob, twisting it ever so gently. The island looked quite lovely from far, he was sure of that, but that's how it grabbed you…kept you forever. Like a spider and its web, sewn so daintily into nature, and along would come the unsuspecting insect, assuming the thready little wisps would simply break apart with their blow…and how wrong they were. Webs…so lovely and delicate, shimmering in the sunlight…and yet, so dastardly and inconceivably treacherous, life threatening if anything from its world came too close and absolute death if trapped in its constraints. Welcome to the world of the Plastic Beach.

He peered out into the rather large nook, listening to the pipes spitting out steam clouds that evaporated too slowly. He took a weary step in, shutting the door behind him as a quick spurt nailed him in the face, but as long as it didn't hurt, he didn't mind. It was awfully chilly though, with the smell of freshly shucked clams. The young man's stomach gave a good twist in disgust. Less than favorable scents were often unwelcomed to a nose with a belly that had yet to be properly filled. However, he forced himself to press on, waving his hand in front of his face every time a pipe shushed him.

_Tch-Shhh_

_Tch-Shhh_

_Tch-Shhh_

_Tch-__**Clank**__!_

His dark eyes widened, slamming himself back into a wall covered in rusted piping, probably not the best idea of any he had, especially without a doctor around. With a quick scan of his arms and legs, there weren't any cuts he could identify, but his heart continued racing as he listened further. There. Another bang of what seemed to be metal against metal. Scratching at the hairs along his neck, the singer wiped some gathering sweat along his sideburn, releasing a long inhalation. He had to be ready for what was just beyond that door. Giving his nose a rub, he pushed off with his elbows, dusting off his shirt and crept towards the red metal slab, taking a moment to mentally gather himself. What if Murdoc was on the other side, making that racket? Would he be equipped with a weapon of some sort, while 2D remained empty handed?

He bit his bottom lip as best he could, searching around quickly. Packed between a few pipes there appeared to be a shovel of some sort, hidden away for no apparent reason; however, that was soon about to change. 2D squatted while he did his best to quietly remove the object from the twisted metal grasp. Twice the head of the shovel tipped the pipes, and twice the thin singer froze to listen for any disturbance in the continual clanking, but there was none. He held the wooden handle in his grip tightly, sliding it across the floor under a rather thick pipe, clamping it to his chest as if it were a life line. It smelled of seaweed and salt, but he didn't mind. Taking a hard swallow with a glance at his tool, he reached out for the handle. Now, he was ready.

The door opened just a crack (as he intended), revealing a rather large room containing metal, colorful wires, ladders, and red paint. The waft of sea water smacked up against his nose and through his skin, surprised that something just outside these walls could manage a force so powerful. He could feel his cheeks shriveling and his hair frizzing on end, but he couldn't be bothered by it. He had been tortured by much worse. If the ocean planned to make an enemy out of him, it was going to have to do a lot worse than that.

_**Clank**_!

"Oy, just another crack 'ere, an' another dent there. Ripe chap's a bloody moron, good goose for the pluckin'."

Furrowing his brows, the bluehead squinted his hardest to see where the voice had come from. He seemed to be on the lowest level of the room, a second level, if you will, just above him, only obtainable by the many ladders posted around the circular disk the pattern seemed to strive for. Adjacent to this was an old generator the size of two healthy elephants, weaved with wires out and about, snaking up the walls of the first level into the second, where, as 2D bravely stepped a little further out to see, someone was hammering away with what looked like a hammer alongside a mechanism of some sort. And it wasn't Murdoc. The man sniffed and rose up on his knees, bum crack in the clear before he raised his sagging trousers and glanced over his shoulder, feeling the oddest sensation that someone was watching him. No one there. Strange. But at least it wasn't the boss. Not that the aging rock star would have the slightest clue that what he was doing wasn't exactly fixing what he had been paid to. There was no harm in fixing what needed to be fixed…even when it hadn't been originally broken. And that only took a matter of a few good whacks. Wiping his nose with his wrist, the man poked his tongue out to the side, leaning forward once again to get back to 'work'.

The young man's heart pulsed through his ears and into his throat. He had nearly been seen. Who knew whose side this man would be on? He couldn't be trusted. No one on Plastic Beach could. His twitching fingers curling around his neck, messaging the lump gathered from his nervousness and turned around. He had ducked into a doorway not too far off from the stairs, but enough to be hidden when the mechanic looked over. He was grateful for the shadows the doorway provided, ignoring the fact that chucks of water logged paint were slowly peeling off the walls and plopping around him, one nailing him on his arm. Gagging in disgust, the singer flicked it off; however, it had left a sticky blotch of scarlet down the bicep to the elbow. Shaking his head, 2D tilted his head back at the door behind him, body spinning along with it. Plastic Beach was a maze, and it struck the singer as purposely so. Kong had been somewhat of a maze itself with nearly fifty rooms and multiple halls, but as far as 2D knew there had only been one main staircase, the basement staircase, and one lift that went from the top floor to the basement. Further down simply required a bit more effort, but Kong had been set up from a top to bottom sort of path, none of this zig zaggy nonsense. Murdoc had not only taken the essence of Kong to build up this place…he had twisted it all around to make it ten times worse, and therefore, detestable.

Perhaps this would lead to another stairwell. He would rather die before he gave up his possible freedom, even if it took him forty years or longer, wandering these strange and wicked halls. He waited until another few clanks were echoing in the large room before he ducked in, realizing a bit too late that this wasn't a stairwell or even hall for that matter. Apparently he had just locked himself in a storage closet. "_Lovely…as if I don't have enough wasted time on my hands…_" he sighed, eying a roll of slightly damp paper towels on a shelf. He wearily unrolled a bit, dabbing the paint off his arm, taking into note how dark it was in there. The room was peculiarly cold for a broom closet, as if it contained its own thermostat to keep levels at bay. He did his best to avoid stepping on more wires that seemed to keep appearing the more he tried avoiding them. They were even hanging from the ceiling.

Taking a sniff, the singer arched a furrowed brow, tossing the dirtied paper to tear another one. It was a bizarre fact for his nose to smell something other than anything sea related, but he was positive he was smelling oil above anything else. True, there was a generator out there and many mechanisms that 2D wasn't too familiar with, but they all looked stiff and rusty. Nothing in that room looked like it had been tweaked up with a dab of oil like the waft indicated. He reached out to place the towel roll, taking an uneven step back as his heel rested against a floored wire, and the lad collapsed back, but not entirely. Something had broken his fall.

…or someone.

Swallowing the biggest lump he had ever experienced in his entire life, the singer's whole body shook as he tried to control his breathing. There couldn't possibly be zombies on Plastic Beach, could there? No, of course not. Zombies hated the sunlight, heat, or anything of the kind. They required the coolness of a drafty soggy day and a final resting place when it was time to die for the morning. The location of Plastic Beach, wherever that happened to be, was a rather impossible habitat for the undead, and so the singer's mind bounced that out and moved onto the next thought. Perhaps it wasn't undead…but…dead. His muscles froze up as he forced himself to lean forward and snap his neck back anxiously. The actual dead could be scarier to face than the undead. Never knew if they were going to pop up…just an eternal wait…

However, nothing could prepare him for what he actually had encountered. He wasn't quite sure if he remembered how to breathe, the squeeze in his throat tightening with every passing second made a simple swallow seem like a rock hard task. He had lost the location of his heart. The pulse seemed to be coming from outside his body, crashing in one after another, forcing his knees to nearly give way with his stomach. He needed to vomit…and to yell…to cry and remain silent. He needed someone to wake him up from this dream because if there was such a thing as cloud nine…he was quite sure he had just surpassed it. His fingers twitched out in an anxious spasm, unsure of what to do.

…She was here.

_**She**_ was _**here**_.

Hiding within the mass of wires hanging from the ceiling, leaning forward with her back towards him, she seemed to be in a sleeping stupor of sorts, ignoring everything around her. A silent tear ran down his cheek, bottom lip trembling as he mouthed her name over and over until finally…it came out in a small whisper.

"…Noodle…"

She did not reply, nor respond to his call, as quiet as it was, and he could hear the continuous clanking outside. Where the sudden burst of energy came from, he could not say. He was weak, but strong from the soul, and with this power, he tossed down his shovel from the nook in his arm and thrust himself at her, clamping her tightly in his grip. He refused to show any shame when he sobbed into her shoulder, bravely kissing her cheek while he whispered tender thoughts of longing, pain, and fear. He cradled her close, and chose to ignore her cold shoulder and unresponsive behavior, taking deep breaths before his incoherent mourning became more like English, resting his cheek along her neck, "…A-Angel love…I-I th-thought…sw-ore y-ou were…oh C-Christ…" he heaved, gently closing his eyes, finding the strange pit in his stomach alarming. Something…something was not right.

As his lids slowly lifted, he locked them on the wires he was nestled within, trailing them until they weaved in and out of his grip…and into her body. His arms slowly released her, brushing his fingers against her arms, feeling how estranged they seemed to be from the last time he had held her tight. She was a bit taller, shapelier…how she would be…at this age…She was…so cold. What was this?

He stumbled backwards away from her, jaw trembling as he grabbed at the shovel, eyes never leaving her back. "Noodle?" he whispered, body withered from the trembling his stiff muscles couldn't cease. His grip on the wooden rod tightened until his palms became white and his fingers pounded in pain, "…N-Noodle, answer me."

Nothing.

"N-Noodle! Answer me!"

He slammed the head of the shovel against one of the pipes, blurrily glaring out at her indifferent feedback, "I said answer me, dammit!" He grabbed at the wires injected throughout her body, ripping at the cords three by three, ignoring the strange static and hiss resulting from it.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Why couldn't he have saved her?

It was _all_ wrong.

Everything.

What had they done?

The door behind him opened in a jerk, allowing the stingy salty air to wave in over him with a beam of the room's yellow light. A pair of mismatched eyes stared in unexpected surprise, thinking the noise had come from his own creation, quite unaware that his prisoner had escaped. He had very little time to think about this, he realized, when the tear stained, glaring god slowly rose, dropping the dangling cords from his grip to even his hands along the shovel twisting round and round. The man's chest was barely lifting as he grunted for air, broken pattern of teeth clenched back into a snarl, a bizarre reaction to see the lad proffer so close to a true zombie lusting for flesh…and the look in his eye warned the bassist that 2D wasn't too far off. The shovel rose within the blink of an eye, and Murdoc had but a second to lift the empty bucket he had in his hands to prevent the side of the make shift blade from cutting into his scalp. It dented through the side of the tin pretty quickly, almost in half pieces before the bassist threw it to the side. He skid back a bit for his own safety, but this proved pointless as 2D swung the weapon out and over his shoulder, taking a good running start to add momentum to this hit. He wasn't going to miss.

Eyes widening at his chancing time, Murdoc dodged alongside what seemed to be a giant mechanical switch with multiple fancy buttons and a rather large lever.

"ACTIVATE!"

The bluehead's swing knocked back as he was suddenly halted to a stop, two firm arms holding him close while two strong legs dragged him back and away from the abusive bassist. The shovel was ripped from his grip in one swipe so quick he didn't even have a chance to reach out for it before the arms wrapped around, pinning his arms down to his sides. He managed to sit in this grip without actually sitting on anything, but this didn't seem to interest him in the least. His eyes fell blank, refusing to know what was going on or why behind his person. Before him, Murdoc dusted himself off with a growl, picking up the shovel with a slight interest in it, holding it in the light in scrutiny before glancing back at the addict. Apparently _someone_ had a notion to be a determined little runaway…

The Gorillaz leader lifted the wooden bit high above 2D's head as he stepped closer, slowly bringing it down to tap him on the tip, receiving no response, "Someone's been a naughty boy." His clawed hand lifted to his chin, giving it a slight rub in curiosity. How had the lad possibly gotten out? He had been quite sure that door was fool proof (and rather literally at that). The bluehead's eyes leisurely blinked, almost waving through a dream and in that moment Murdoc wondered when was the last time he had been fed. It often slipped his mind considering he was a very busy man, and 2D hadn't been the most cooperative of the bunch he had worked with. However, the pretty boy seemed to be tipping over his own edge, gnashing and lashing out as his last resources of survival. His mental state was breaking down.

Excellent.

A small smile curled along the bass player's face and neither Satan nor the Grinch could have done a viler job. "What wrong, 2D? Ran out of puzzles and crayons? I'll be sure to get you some more." he spat with a hint of disgust, twirling the shovel back and forth between his fingers. He slammed it against the wall and left it perched there, backing up a few steps before throwing a random nut that had been gathering dust among the wires, "OY DAVE!"

The rear of the clanking man disappeared and traded places with a peering face, confusion written all over his mug, "Aye, Skipper?"

The sea green male pointed at the prize of the day in the grip of the young woman, frozen until ordered. The lad's face held nothing but a blank stare, not even bothering to gaze around or glare at the one straining all his torture. The Brit's multicolored eyes squinted as his brows furrowed, crossing his arms in a hiss, "Didn't notice an _intruder_ in the premises?"

"Oh…well…wit all due respect, gov, I'm jus' 'ere for the electric, plumbin' an' such. An' wit all me '_ard_ work, it can get rather noisy. Note to yeh, Cap. I wouldn't try an' use tha' bookcase doorway if I were you, jus' yet. Doin' my very best to get right on tha', but between the main bedroom's lightin' an' the air conditionin' in tha' little closet down there, it might take a bit." the pudgy man preached as he jerked his thumb behind him for no particular reason, hoping his classic bull shitting was pulling off quite nicely. As long as the boss knew him wrong, he was safe. However, he didn't seem to think holding a frying pan in his grip along with a wrench was too odd for the situation. Hopefully, Murdoc wouldn't either.

But he wasn't paying attention to much of anything the handyman was spewing. As long as he got the job done, he didn't care. His brows furrowed even deeper as he ran over one particular fact in his head. "Fine, wotever, but don't yeh fuckin' dare cut the AC in that closet. I keep a very particular project in there an' I won't 'ave it malfunctionin' on me because o' you, yeh 'ear me?" he growled, accepting the silent nod as the man leaned up and against the motorized panel next to him, resting his elbow along it. "'ew's that, then?" the mechanic asked with a bored perked interest, stretching out his crunched back. Any break was a decent one in his profession.

Eyes falling on the mangled boy, the bassist turned on his heel, motioning for his drone to follow, dragging her prisoner along. "Singer o' my band." he muttered with just as much interest as the handyman, "-an' guitarist." he added quickly with a point to the violet haired angel in disguise. With a snap of his fingers, Murdoc kicked open the doors the singer had struggled to get through, hopes so desperately high that perhaps he would have been able to get off the island. He would have.

If it weren't for her.

"Dave, if yeh ever catch the twit snoopin' around 'ere, give me a ring. I'll be sure teh add a bonus for it." the bassist offered, knowing greed was a human's worst enemy and best friend. He smirked as the man jerked up immediately with a proud salute, "Aye, aye, sir!" trading his face for his rear once again with a smile nearly as malicious as Murdoc's.

The bassist led the small group of two away from prying eyes, down the stairwells that 2D had personally used along his route, through the halls, and into the turns of his lonely deserted room across from the leaky rusted lift. Murdoc marched in with a smug air, kicking things out of his path before turning to watch the girl dump the young man onto the floor, face first. He remained silent and refused to move from the position he had landed in until the band leader felt it was necessary, offering him a sharp kick to the ribs. The bluehead yelped in agony, cradling his sides as he rolled over, opening his eyes to a world of white heat. He flew up through his shirt; however, still grounded.

"Yeh think you can just up an' leave whenever yeh want, faceache?"

Silence.

He was shoved back to the floor, the thudded footsteps of the bassist fading just a bit before returning. The thin man opened his eyes, rolling away from the oncoming kick and luckily, it was a miss. His hollowed eyes glared up while he gathered his loss of air, crawling back as far as he could. The smug smirk lurking across the eldest's face was enough to drive the lad insane with rage, and very slowly he grew to his taller height, fists clenched tighter than his teeth. He wouldn't have him. He couldn't. With one step, all his feeling evaporated with the pain staking truth lying before him. **It** had taken a protective step in front of Murdoc, slight crouch as if prepared to battle. The smile slithered up even more. "Wot…'ave you done…to 'er…" the singer heaved, raising a nerve attacked finger, unsure if it was from terror or rage.

Any form of satisfaction wiped off the male's face within seconds. Pushing her away from his path, the bassist lifted a finger of his own, trudging up to the lad so quickly it knocked him to his feet, and again, Murdoc appeared to be the taller man. His eyes held their own burning rage, almost deranged before he cracked an awkward smile, tilting his head at her, "Can't you see, yeh dimwitted fuck? I've saved 'er. I searched to the ends of the world lookin' for one person…_one person_….an' in all that time, I could only find bits an' pieces…._bits…an' pieces_." his smile grew further when his voice jumped, and 2D could feel his stomach spinning as well as his head. It wasn't true. It hadn't happened. He was lying. Shoulders lurched against his ears, the singer gagged a few times, rocking forward and back, "Shut up! Yo' wrong! Yo' a liar! I don't wanna 'ear it anymore!"

The secret word seemed to have done a number on the owner of Plastic Beach, patting the cheek of the emotionless clone, completely ignoring the soul before him. His affections seemed absolutely normal in his mind, offering the unresponsive robot a treasured smile, the pride of his beach. "I made 'er…all by me lonesome…" he muttered, eyes nearly glazing as his head tilted the other way, brushing an odd strand from her view. The eyes blinked once, arms crossing behind her.

"Scraps I started wit…plain ol' scraps…metals an'…DNA. Christ, did I search that crash site…'Noodle!'...'Noodle!'" he echoed softly, capping his hand over his mouth as if reliving the moment. The robot turned its attention on him and remained that way: back straight, sensors on alert. Crossing his arms, he closed his eyes, releasing a sigh that sounded…_too_ relaxed. "…An' then…I found some…Bits of hair an' all that…singed mind you, but doable. Oh, God, I'm so proud. All technical work…I figured…figured 'ey, if I can make a Noodle, I suppose I could fix 'er, too! Remove all that nasty nonsense an' 'ave 'er be…perfect." he grinned with a purr, opening his eyes. The lad sat frozen, staring up at him in utter terror. He had always known Murdoc to be many things…but whatever this new genre was, it had evolved into a whole new level.

"Emotions an' wotnot…useless, to be honest…but she'll always 'ave a spot for me, 'er ol' creator, Uncle Muddy, won't yeh darlin'?" he cooed, patting her shoulder, but the robot made no response. He glanced at the bluehead, offering him a small smile as well, rubbing his chin as he held onto his elbow, "Although I suppose it won't be the same for you…but, no matter. She fights an' plays like a pro, don't yeh little lomein chicken wing?" the bassist smirked insolently, running a jagged claw down her cheek before poking her nose.

"SHUT UP!"

The lanky bluehead jumped to his feet, tears running down his cheeks, nose running over his lips. His eyes held an undying hate to forever blaze within, and in seconds he ran at Murdoc, managing to get his fingers around the man's neck before the robo Noodle could interfere. "YOU SICK FUCK! YOU DID THIS TO 'ER! THAT FING AIN'T REAL! YEH'VE GONE MENTAL! YEH REALLY THINK MAKIN' THAT WILL BRING 'ER BACK? YOU DID THIS! YOU DID THIS! MURDERER! MURDERER! LET ME OFF THIS ISLAND! ITS ALL YO' FAULT!" he screeched, fingers curling and tightening when he felt the robot grab him painfully by the ribs as Murdoc hacked for air.

"NOODLE WHERE ARE YEH? PLEASE! DARLIN' WHERE ARE YEH?" His body lost all control of itself as it convulsed into rapid fire of flailing limbs, a nervous bound foam leaking from the corners of his mouth as he heaved every word with every single last ounce of life he had left in him. It took a rather hard smack from the robot for the singer's hands, already bruised from the grip it had kept him in, to release the bassist, hyperventilating as he even tried to wrestle the contraption off, but it was no use. Whatever this imposter was, it was beyond him in strength, in body and program. Scrunching his eyes shut, he took a quick deep breath and swung his head back in full force, meeting the duplicate's face with ease. Her grip did not loosen as he had hoped, but the pain throbbing within his skull gave him a strange relief, releasing all his stiffened muscles into a soft jelly. His focus blurred for a moment before his head dropped in a nauseating suspension, wincing when his chin was forced up and neck twisted, Murdoc's thick claws grinding into his pouted cheeks, "Now look wot yeh've gone an' done."

Behind him for as best as the young man could see was the teen's face.

Or what it should've been around this time.

Unhinged from her skull.

The knock had dislodged the snap along the side of her ear which kept all well and cozy for viewing pleasure, but the face had swung open in the struggle, revealing the mechanics of the copy's skeleton. Large glass balls with an odd shade of green…strangely shaped dentures with rather pointed teeth…and wires among wires weaved within an array of flashing lights. For a maximum of three seconds, the bluehead could say nothing, but merely stare in numbing disbelief of what he was seeing. Of what Plastic Beach had done to him. Of what it would do.

The glass orbs twisted down in a buzz, the neat little sensory pupils staring down at him without a lid to forge any emotion and suddenly all previous sentiment towards this creature obliterated within the young man's mind. He was in the bind of this horrific monster…too close to that terrifying lie called a face…trapped forever in the world of the Plastic Beach. Jerking his head from Murdoc's grip, 2D twisted and thrust his body, screaming at the highest possible level he could, from fear, to anxiety and panic through terror, unsure of anything else his body could possibly do. It was now the _only_ reaction it was allowing him. And in between each and every fragment of unintelligible shrieks, he managed something along the lines of, "LET ME GO!" and "LET ME THE FUCK OUTTA 'ERE!" His voice began to falter after a moment from the overexerted stress, a hand capping over his mouth in efforts to mute him for just a few seconds. His nose pressed up roughly, but no…not a punch. Simply a cap made of cloth.

The singer's eyes widened as his tear stained vision offered him a groggy view of the man from Stoke at work, patting a few drops into the cloth as the robot's hand took cover for his necessary other. The rag was replaced before the singer could catch a clean breath of air, his entire body shaking to rid the grip but he was exhausted…quite done for at least the week. His muffled squeals broke through a few times, but there was nothing he could say that would mean much to the malicious bassist, a cruel, yet pleased smile relaxed along his features.

"Shh, 2D…just calm down…nice and deep…"

The young man flung his head back, knocking against the face panel, but it bobbed almost too heavily to recover from, "Mmmmm…"

"That's right…it's all…just all a dream…isn't that right, Noodle?"

The room…the man…everything…cloudy…a large fade…

"N-Noodle!"

It was so metallic…so unlike her lovely accented tune…so cold…so dead…

The bassist patted the wobbling head of his singer, nodding for his minion to place him on the bed. The boy's eyes did their best to focus, blinking unevenly while his lips pursed then popped, trying to form words. It was too hard. His chest heaved as his head struggled to tilt even a bit on his pillow, watching the grimy Brit open the curtains of his peephole, rubbing his hands together proudly as if he had done something worth noting. "Nothin' like a little ocean light to soothe the soul. Might even spot a fish or two." he said quietly, a shadow of a grin lurking along his lips. He patted the rag once more on the singer's face as the boy's arm shook, fighting his failing limbs to even move an inch. It was no use. Murdoc had won.

"Not to…worry….2D…."

His eyes heavily capped against his cheeks.

"It'll…all…be…over…soon…"

"_No…you're…wrong…it's only…the beginning_."

The rag lifted away, and before long, there was nothingness.

* * *

**Author's Note**: _And here it is, my first Plastic Beach themed story. It seems I've steered away from comedy and gone towards more serious genre...I ought to write a comedy again at some point. I apologize for the delay, I started this one a while back, but wasn't too sure of it and kept working on it until I felt it was right. Or at least decent enough for a public showing. I'm still working on Memoir as I keep noting. I've just been busy between school work (yeah right) and other fics (that seems about right) that time has been robbed from me. And of course, I have to be in the mood, which always seems to be in the early hours of the morning. Woo for late nights! I hope this one messed with your emotions. :3 It was rather interesting to write. _


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